The weather was surprisingly pleasant. The morning was warming up, and after last night's rain, the air felt especially fresh.

Alistair glanced up at the sky, completely clear and cloudless. He took a deep breath, the faint scent of boar stew still lingering in the air. Poisoned or not, he’d only had two spoonfuls, and now he was hungry.

"Why is he still alive?"

The comment snapped Alistair back to the present. He turned his head and stared at the person who had spoken. It was an old man—very old. The top of his head was bald, with long, gray hair flowing down the sides. He held a wooden staff in his right hand that looked like it had been carved from a large branch. The man wore a red robe, embroidered with golden patterns of fire.

"I thought you said you'd take care of him. So, what is this?" the old man continued, addressing Fergus.

"There was... a complication. He took both poisons, but he noticed. So he hasn't triggered the Manaburst Fog yet, but the Ember should take care of him soon enough," Fergus answered respectfully.

"Pffft!" Alistair stifled a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. "Manaburst Fog? Your sense of naming is as bad as it's always been. You should let other people name your poisons, Veidr."

Veidr stared at Alistair for a moment before turning back to Fergus. "Are you sure he took the Ember?"

The question confused the young man. "Uh, yes, I was sitting beside him when he consumed it."

Veidr kept his gaze on Fergus, the intensity making the young man uneasy, though he remained silent. After a moment, Veidr shifted his attention back to Alistair. "I can't sense any Ember in his body."

Fergus, wide-eyed, turned to Alistair in shock. "That's... impossible," he stammered.

"Not impossible, just highly paranoid," Veidr said with a smirk in Alistair's direction. "You carry an antidote everywhere, don't you? Either that, or someone cast Cure on you—which I doubt. Is that how you've survived this long? By being paranoid?"

"Funny, being called paranoid by someone who faked his death and changed his identity just to avoid me," Alistair replied with a smile.

"So what? I don't mind being called a coward, as long as I survive. And by the end of this day, you'll be dead, and I'll be alive. I'd call that a win." Veidr responded, his smile growing even wider.

Alistair scoffed at the reply. The old man was harder to rattle, but then again, he had always been this shameless. Alistair shifted his gaze to Fergus.

While they had been talking, the soldiers had started to move back. But suddenly, Alistair lunged at Fergus. Surprised by the sudden attack, Fergus shoved a nearby soldier into Alistair’s path. Without hesitation, Alistair drove his spear through the man and into Fergus’s chest.

Fergus’s eyes widened as he stared at the spear lodged in his chest. Alistair pulled the spear back, and both bodies collapsed to the ground. Fergus looked up weakly at Alistair. "You hated me that much?" he asked, forcing the words out.

"No, I loved you. You were family. But we don’t spare traitors in our house," Alistair replied, his face expressionless.

Fergus glanced at him and let out a faint snigger. "Love? Now that's a joke. You don’t even look hurt by my betrayal—just annoyed," he said, smiling weakly.

The comment stirred something in Alistair.

"Are you sure you know what love is?" A red-haired woman asked, warmth in her eyes.

The sudden flashback startled Alistair. It had come out of nowhere. He looked down at Fergus, but the young man had already stopped breathing.

"That's cold, but very effective. Are you sure you're not an assassin?" Veidr asked with a smirk.

Alistair turned toward him, adjusting his mindset. He needed to focus on the present situation if he wanted to survive.

Alistair had history with the man. Veidr was one of the Empire of Blothall’s hunting dogs. Blothall, the largest power on the continent, was often referred to by Alistair as the land of perpetual wars. The Empire always had a conflict to fight—never a day of peace. They would even declare war for the most petty reasons.

Forty years ago, when Alistair had just solidified his status as the continent’s strongest warrior, the Empire felt that Aenduil wasn’t worthy of that title. So they sent three ascended to assassinate him, and Veidr was one of them. Veidr was crucial to the team because of his unique skill—he could mask mana flow, a highly dangerous ability for assassination.

Yes, Veidr was an assassin, not a mage. The man loved disguising himself as a mage or healer, often just to fool his targets and gain an advantage. He would even go so far as to cross-dress if it suited his plans. In addition to his disguises, Veidr had a passion for poisons, concocting most of them himself. From what Alistair understood, he was quite good at it.

But it was Veidr’s mana masking skill that bothered Alistair the most. It was that ability that allowed him and his team to get dangerously close to Alistair while he was training on a mountain. He had been naked, soaking in a lake, when he finally sensed them—already at the shore. Though they failed to ambush him, he still had to fight them completely exposed. After taking down the other two ascended, the little vermin simply turned and fled.

Alistair tried to chase him, but with Veidr’s mana masking skill, he managed to escape. Not willing to let such a dangerous enemy roam free, Alistair mobilized every shadow under his command to track the man. He even chased him deep into Ortsgard’s territory, willing to follow him into Blothall if necessary.

One night, one of Alistair’s shadow units found him. Alistair ran toward the sound of the fight, but when he arrived, he found the entire unit dead. Nearby was another body, charred, lying on top of a fire mage who had a knife stabbed into his heart. The body was unrecognizable, but Alistair recognized the knife—it was the one Veidr used. That’s how he believed he had eliminated a troublesome foe.

Alistair stared at the man in the red robe. He couldn’t imagine the level of preparation required to pull off such a feat. But it didn’t matter anymore. Veidr was here, and he had to deal with him—again.

"Were you there? At Cortinbury?" Alistair asked.

"Of course I was. Ever since you arrived at Cortinbury, we were never far from you." Veidr gestured to his team. "We just had to wait for the perfect moment. Which is now. Any last words?"

The six ascended began to move, encircling Alistair. The rest of the 6th Company soldiers slowly backed away from him. The three grandmasters—mages, all of them—moved behind Veidr. The two masters also retreated; they didn’t seem eager to join the fight.

“How did you do it? How did you manage to persuade those five kingdoms to work together?” Alistair asked the old man, his voice cold and indifferent. He didn’t seem to care much about the ascended.

“You’d love to know, wouldn’t you? Do you have any idea how long we’ve been preparing for this?” Veidr replied in a mocking tone.

“Five years.”

“…How do you know that?”

“I’m actually a seer, and I’ve already foreseen your death today.”

“Heh, are you sure you’re not a jester?”

Ignoring Veidr’s response, Alistair continued with more questions. “So, five years of preparation. Five kingdoms manipulated, tens of thousands of soldiers sacrificed… all just for a chance to kill me?”

“Hahaha. You think so highly of yourself… but yes, we did all of that to kill you. We’ve been planning to expand our empire to the west. But Aenduil has always been a problem. Even though the other kingdoms would never pose a threat to us, you’re different. Not only do you have a strong military and a high number of ascended, you also have you.”

“So the plan was to pit the kingdoms against each other and take out Aenduil’s strongest warrior. Three birds with one stone. What are you going to do about it? Cry?” Veidr smirked.

“Well, where are the rest of the ascended from the five kingdoms? I don’t see any of the old faces here. What’s the matter? They didn’t like what they saw in Cortinbury?”

“Don’t need them! Bunch of cowards, the lot of them. This team is more than enough to handle one crippled ascended.” Veidr gestured toward the group of ascended.

Young. This group of ascended is definitely one of the youngest Alistair has ever met. The Empire must have some secret method to help awakened level up quickly. Alistair glanced at the two masters briefly before turning his attention to the seven ascended.

Two shield knights, one mage, a ranger with a bow, a swordsman, and a burly knight wielding a massive war hammer. Including the rat assassin in the back, it wasn’t a perfectly balanced party, but it was ideal for overwhelming a single target.

Alistair closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, his expression had hardened. His eyes were half-open, fixed on the ground. His body slouched, and he let the spear dangle from his right hand, barely gripping it, the spearhead resting against the earth.

His posture was far from that of a warrior—it even looked ridiculous. But the six ascended surrounding him didn’t see it that way. Sweat began to bead on their foreheads. The mage even took a step back.

"Don't worry! The manaburst is still inside his body! He still can't use his mana!" Veidr shouted from the back, snickering. "Heh, I guess that expensive antidote you carry can’t remove my precious poison, huh?" he added.

But Alistair didn’t seem to hear him. He continued to stare at the ground, unmoving.

Veidr’s words made the six ascended exchange uneasy glances. Nervousness flickered in their eyes, but they couldn't afford hesitation. The knight with the war hammer shifted his weight, sweat glistening on his brow, before stepping forward. Just as his foot hit the ground, Alistair lunged—his movements a blur.

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The melee fighters sprang into action, scrambling to intercept him. The mage’s hands trembled as he began casting a spell, arcane energy swirling around his fingers. The ranger leaped into the air, bow drawn, eyes locked on Alistair’s every move.

In an instant, Alistair shifted his focus to the war hammer knight. The knight swung his hammer low, aiming for Alistair’s thighs. Instead of dodging by jumping or sidestepping, Alistair dipped lower, continuing his charge. The hammer whooshed past, barely missing his head. The knight’s eyes widened in shock, but Alistair didn’t slow—he rushed right past him.

Alistair darted around the knight, his gaze locking onto the ranger, who had leaped into the air with her bow drawn. She hovered for a split second, ready to release—but she had no idea what was coming.

Using the knight’s broad frame to mask his movement, Alistair snapped his arm forward and hurled his spear in one fluid motion. The weapon sliced through the air, too fast for anyone to react. The ranger didn’t even register the attack before it struck.

The spear pierced through her skull with a sickening thud, the force sending her lifeless body hurtling backward. She slammed into a nearby tree, the spear pinning her there like a gruesome trophy.

For a brief moment, the battlefield froze.

Before anyone could recover from the shock, Alistair shifted his focus. He spun and drove his foot into the side of the war hammer knight with brutal precision. The sheer force of the kick lifted the knight off his feet, his armor clanging as he crashed into one of the shield knights, toppling them both.

The swordsman reached Alistair’s side and thrust his blade toward his neck. Alistair leaped back and crouched just as a lightning spell crackled over his head and struck a nearby tent.

Boom! The tent exploded in a burst of flames and debris.

Alistair rose slowly, eyes still half-open, body slouched. The brief lull in the fight gave the ascended team a moment to regroup.

One of the shield knights stole a glance at the ranger’s body pinned to the tree. "What kind of spearman throws his weapon the first chance he gets?" he muttered under his breath.

"The best spearman in the land, apparently," the war hammer knight, Angus, responded while nursing his side. "Jaden, Duncan, I need you two to restrict his movement," Angus ordered the shield knights. "Marcus and I will engage him." He dropped his large hammer to the ground and instead drew the two smaller one-handed war hammers hanging from his belt. "He's a lot faster than I expected. You think you can handle that?" he asked Marcus, the swordsman.

"Do I really have to? Fine, I’ll find a way." Marcus grumbled. "The bastard's bigger than you, yet he’s faster than me. How the hell does that make sense?" He turned to the mage. "Linda, next time, use a faster spell."

Linda shot him a dirty look. "Lightning travels faster than sound, you moron." She sighed. "He dodged it right before I cast it. That's not human."

"Then we’ll treat him like an animal," Angus said. "He’s strong and fast, but he can’t use mana, and right now he doesn’t even have a weapon. Let’s treat it like we’re hunting a beast."

"Yeah, right," Marcus muttered, cautiously moving toward Alistair. "Where the hell have you ever hunted a beast with instincts like that?"

"Then pretend we’re hunting a dragon," Angus replied. He glanced at Linda. "Stick to Lightning."

Linda nodded as both shield knights moved to encircle Alistair once more.

Marcus initiated the second engagement, sticking to compact, fast, and adaptable movements. Alistair kept evading the slashes, but this time he struggled to close the distance on the swordsman. Angus maintained pressure, timing his own strikes between Marcus’s attacks.

As the two shield knights advanced, Alistair suddenly lunged at Jaden. Jaden raised his shield, but before he could activate a skill, Alistair delivered a powerful punch to the shield, sending Jaden stumbling back a few steps. Seizing the moment, Marcus pulled a hidden knife from his belt and hurled it at Alistair. With a swift spin, Alistair backfisted the knife, sending it flying toward Angus. Angus barely managed to deflect it with his hammer.

"Shield Bash!" Duncan shouted as he charged at Alistair from behind, activating his skill without hesitation. Alistair raised his right arm, taking the brunt of the attack.

The impact sent Alistair flying back several meters, but he managed to land on his feet. However, the skill had injured his right arm—blood began to trickle down from the wound. The sight of Alistair bleeding reinvigorated the ascended group. Suddenly, Alistair jerked his head back, narrowly dodging a lightning spell that whizzed past him and obliterated a tree.

"How the hell did you do that?!" Linda screamed in frustration, her voice tinged with exasperation. But Alistair, unfazed, smiled in response.

Angus suddenly realized where they were—slowly edging toward a group of spectating soldiers.

"Watch out!" Angus shouted, but it was too late. Alistair had already leapt toward the soldiers. Angus now understood that Alistair had been waiting for Linda’s spell. Mage spells were powerful, but they couldn’t be fired rapidly. The only reason Alistair hadn’t charged the soldiers earlier was because of Linda’s presence.

The soldiers at the edge of Alistair’s jump were too slow to react. He landed right in their midst, and chaos erupted.

"Argh!" The soldiers’ screams filled the air, mixed with the sound of bones breaking and blood splattering.

Angus and the rest of the melee ascended rushed toward the soldiers. Suddenly, Angus sensed something. "LINDA!"

"Mana Barrier!" Linda cast her spell just in time to block a sword Alistair had thrown at her. The sword shattered on impact, but the barrier broke too. Linda was flung backward, slamming into a tree. She dropped to her knees, blood dripping from her mouth. She had only been able to cast a quick protection spell due to the urgency, but it was still a defensive spell—broken by a single thrown sword? What if he’d thrown something heavier, like a spear? She shuddered at the thought.

Alistair, meanwhile, took advantage of the chaos and dashed away from the ascended. He weaved through the soldiers, circling toward the front of the base with the ascended warriors chasing close behind.

As he ran, Alistair kept grabbing objects and hurling them at his pursuers. One knife struck Duncan in the thigh, the force dragging his leg back and pulling him to the ground.

Veidr, who had been watching the fight from a distance, couldn't believe what he was witnessing. Six ascended, and they had failed to kill a single target who couldn’t even use skills. One of them was already dead, and now two more had been incapacitated. Then, suddenly, he realized something: the Count was moving toward him.

Alistair leaped from the crowd of soldiers toward Veidr, spear in hand. Veidr snorted and activated his skill. His body shimmered and then vanished completely. The three grandmaster mages were caught off guard, scrambling to cast their spells, but it was too late.

Alistair landed where Veidr had been standing, thrusting his spear three times in rapid succession. He continued running before the three bodies even hit the ground.

Angus was furious. He couldn’t believe that this man—who couldn’t even use skills—was toying with them like this. And now, it looked like Alistair was about to escape. If he made it out of the camp and into the forest, tracking him would be nearly impossible without a ranger or mage.

But then, Angus noticed something odd. The Count wasn’t running toward the forest—he was heading straight for the two masters who had accompanied him.

The swordsman master noticed it too and hurriedly drew his blade. Sweat drenched his back as he watched the unnatural fight unfold, and now his stomach dropped as he saw the Count charging toward him.

Alistair stopped right in front of the swordsman and said, "Olli, right? I’ve been searching for you." He pulled his spear back, ready to thrust.

Olli's eyes widened in shock. How did he know who he was? His hand, gripping the holy sword, trembled. He didn’t know what to do. They had told him this sword could kill the Count. But what did that matter now? The sword was powerful—he knew that—but it wasn’t going to magically make him an ascended. And the man in front of him had literally dodged lightning! He regretted believing her. She had promised to turn him into a Hero.

Olli screamed at the top of his lungs and thrust the sword toward Alistair with his eyes closed.

Squelch. Olli slowly opened his eyes. "Huh?" He was confused. The sword had pierced the Count’s chest, and Alistair’s spear had fallen to the ground. It worked! He didn’t know how, but the sword really was magic.

"I did it! I killed Alistair Roet—"

Thud. Alistair’s fist crashed into Olli’s chin, knocking him unconscious before he could finish his sentence.

____________________________________

Alistair stared at the sword lodged in his chest. He dropped to his knees. He cough some bloods. The blade pierced through his heart had also nicked his lung. He then glanced at the body beside Olli—it was a master mage.

Just before Alistair could drive his spear through Olli’s head, the mage had raised a hand toward him. And Alistair froze.

He couldn’t move a muscle, not even his eyes. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even channel his mana. It wasn’t a spell—Alistair hadn’t felt any mana flow before it hit him.

Then Olli stabbed him in the chest, and the master mage simply dropped dead. Just like that. It wasn’t a mana rebound or a side effect. Alistair hadn’t sensed any mana—it was as if the man just stopped living. The moment the mage died, Alistair regained control of his body.

Now what? His heart had been pierced by the sword. Could he heal it? No, not with all these enemies surrounding him.

"Hahaha! Look at that! It’s Olli who got the job done," Marcus was the first to arrive, smirking as he walked toward Alistair. "Well, not really done. It’s okay, Olli, I’ll finish it for you."

Killing the Count of Eulstan—that was too high an honor to pass up.

Alistair saw Marcus approaching and realized, in that moment, that he was going to die. Regret bloomed in his chest like a heavy weight. Ewan—the boy who had followed him since childhood—was now dead, buried in some unmarked grave that would likely never be found. Fergus’s last words echoed in his mind. Was the boy right? Had he been family, or just another tool for Alistair to strengthen the house? Maybe, if he’d been more sincere, Fergus would have thought twice before betraying them.

Alistair looked up again. Marcus was closing in, Angus not far behind, and the rest of the soldiers stood watching, Veidr no doubt lurking somewhere in the shadows. He had no allies here. Death was inevitable, but at least he could choose how to face it.

Alistair looked at Marcus and said. "Hey, wanna see something cool?"

Without giving Marcus a chance to respond, Alistair grabbed the hilt of the holy sword with his right hand.

"CONFLAGRATIO SANCTA."

Alistair cast his skill, pouring more than half of his mana into it. The rest of his mana ignited immediately from the manaburst, but it didn’t matter. The sword flashed briefly, then pulsed as a wave of mana surged outward, sweeping across the camp and beyond.

The mana wave slammed into Marcus, stopping him in his tracks. He looked around, confused, checking his body for damage. Then he turned his gaze back toward the count.

Alistair was there, panting, his face growing paler by the second, but a wide grin still spread across his lips. Slowly, he raised his left hand and flipped Marcus off. And then it happened.

Everything moved in slow motion for Alistair. Starting from the sword, the mana morphed into blue flames that expanded, following the path of the mana wave.

Alistair watched as Marcus’s expression shifted from confusion to terror as the fire engulf him. He caught sight of Veidr slipping from the shadows, already trying to flee. Angus, still standing, slowly turned his head toward the mage, still kneeling by a tree.

Alistair closed his eyes. He could feel his skin boiling as the sword pulsed once more, sending a force that slowly widened the wound in his chest. His body began to lift off the ground. And then, suddenly—

Alistair's eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. The cold air hit his lungs like ice, sharp and biting. He sat up abruptly, heart racing, his mind still caught between the heat of the explosion and the chill of wherever he had landed.

He was inside a cave—damp, frigid, the air thick with moisture. The distant sound of dripping water echoed faintly, and the smell of wet stone and earth filled his nose. He could see everything around him as clearly as if it were daylight, but the light had no source, no flame or sun. The walls were jagged, covered in patches of slick moss that gleamed in the eerie brightness, and the floor beneath him was uneven, rough against his skin.

His hands instinctively moved to his chest. He looked down, expecting to see the gaping wound, the sword buried in his flesh. But there was nothing—no blood, no torn skin, no trace of the holy sword. His fingers trembled as they brushed over his chest, searching for any sign of damage. The skin was smooth, unscarred, as if the battle had never happened.

Confusion flooded his mind. How was this possible? Just seconds ago, he had felt the flames burning through him, the explosion ripping his body apart. He stared down at his arms, his body, struggling to comprehend what had happened.

"What did you do?" a voice suddenly echoed in his ears, low and resonant, sending a chill down his spine.

Startled, Alistair spun toward the source of the voice, his heart still racing from the disorienting shock of waking in this strange place. His eyes scanned the cave until they settled on a figure seated atop a throne carved from rough stone, the edges jagged and unrefined.

The figure was clad in gleaming white armor, each plate pristine and untouched by time or battle. The armor seemed to glow faintly, reflecting the strange light that filled the cave. Alistair tried to focus on the man’s face, but no matter how hard he stared, it remained elusive. It wasn’t hidden behind a helmet or veil—his face was simply... beyond perception, as if it existed just outside of reality, slipping away whenever Alistair tried to make sense of it.

What disturbed Alistair more than the obscured face was the complete and utter absence of presence. The man, despite his armor and his throne, gave off no aura—no mana, no warmth, no life. It was as though he were part of the throne he sat upon.

"Who... what are you?" Alistair asked, his voice wary.

"Me? I’m a god. And by the way, you’re dead."